Afterlife
by Andromeda4
Summary: After his death, Boromir can't pass to the High Realm because of his pressing desire to live. But instead of returning to his body in Midle Earth, he is somehow brought to another world. Read and Review peeps! This is pretty good *smiles proudly*
1. Dance of the Mayflies

Afterlife 

Okay, this is the first actual long story fic I have written, so it's really important to me that you review! But no flames! 

This is set after the events of "The Fellowship of the Ring," and there **ARE** spoilers ahead, so beware! Basically, after Boromir's death, he is accidentally brought to an alternate dimension by a magical mishap. That sounds stupid, I know, but it's actually pretty good, and I'm some damn proud of my story!! 

Oh yes, I need a disclaimer! I don't own Boromir, or any of the other LoTR people (or dwarfs). In the beginning, when Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli find Boromir, I used some of the dialogue from the book, because I wanted to make it as accurate as possible. I don't own them! Every thing else is mine, except reviewer added stuff which brings me to my next point... 

At some parts, I may ask for ideas for characters or plots, or something else. I like making my fics interactive, because that way I get more reviews!!! Hehe.. oh anyway, If you have any ideas, send them in, but it's imperative (nice word usage, huh?), that you have read this chapter. 

  


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"Are you ready, Lady Hathrá?" 

"Yes." 

"Are you sure you are strong enough to do this?" 

"Alas, no child, but what choice do I have? The people are relying on me… I cannot disappoint them." 

"Lady, I-" 

"Be calm, Meleká. You worry far too much. If you remain this way, you are the one who will fall." 

"Perhaps sometimes my worries are baseless, but today I fret with good reason. You know what Elysia does to those she finds displeasing." 

"All to well, apprentice. I know far more about this than you do, girl. Remember that well." 

"I just want you to be safe, Hathrá!" 

"One day, you will realize that this is not a duty to be undertook by the faint of heart. I understand the risks. Now give me my staff and help me up!" 

"Be wary, Lady." 

"But not distrustful, Meleká. Cynicism is safer, but it is not wiser." 

"Good luck." 

"And to you. If I do not return, you shall have to fend for yourself." 

"Your return is the least of my worries. Right now, I fear that you will collapse the second you walk through these doors." 

"Then have more faith." 

"In you?" 

"Yes. As well as in yourself." 

  
  


Aragorn watched helplessly as Boromir eased his eyes closed and rested his head on the filthy, orc-trampled ground. He fought tears back as he gazed at the face of his finally fallen friend. He knew that he should speak to his companion, say anything to ease his self-inflicted pain, but the words would not come from his tear-choked throat. 

"Boromir?" he whispered when at last he could speak, though he knew fully well that he would receive no answer from this once vital man. Boromir's eyes remained closed, his fair hair plastered to his face with cold sweat. 

"Fare thee well, brother. Gondor shall miss you. May your people forever sing of your courage and loyalty!" 

But while the body of the prince may have lay near Aragorn, his spirit was elsewhere, gone somewhere Aragorn was not entirely sure existed. He perceived that Boromir could not hear him, but though he knew it was senseless and foolish, he could not help but try to speak to him. He would pray for him, Aragorn decided. Boromir had been a good man, but he seemed to believe that he had done something truly terrible. 

_ I will wish for your blessing, friend, _ he whispered to the sky, as opposed to the fallen man below him. _ I will hope that you get your just reward for the honesty and kindness you showed us all. _

He turned at the sound of crackling branches behind him, just in time to see Gimli and Legolas crash through the undergrowth. 

"Alas!" cried Legolas, moving to stand by Aragorn above the fallen Boromir. "We came when we heard the horn- but too late, it seems. I fear you have taken deadly hurt." 

Aragorn looked up, his fair face muddy and streaked with tears and sweat. 

"Boromir is dead," he said heavily. "I am unharmed, for I was not here when the orcs attacked. He fell protecting the hobbits." 

"The hobbits!" said Gimli. "Where are they then?" 

"I do not know." said Aragorn. "Boromir claimed that the orcs had bound them. He did not think them dead. What is to be done now?" 

"First we must tend the fallen," said the elf. "We cannot leave him lying here like carrion among these orcs." 

"But we must be swift," said Gimli. "He would not wish us to linger." 

"He would not wish us to linger," Legolas repeated softly. 

  
  


Somewhere in a place beyond the comprehension of time or position, Boromir's restless spirit lay, filled with anguish over the revelation of his death. His soul was too filled with sorrow to fly free, as it should have done, so he lay, angry at himself and at fate, filled with jealousy for the living, and weighted with grief at what he had done before his rest. Above him, the Light Sphere glinted, reflecting colors he knew, and some he had never seen before. He could not reach it, he knew, for it was too far above him and he could never find the peace he needed to achieve weightlessness. He did not wish to go there. He needed to live again. He would fight the Light Sphere until the end of eternity, would never embrace it, no matter whether it was heaven or hell. 

His heart was too heavy to continue to wander, so he felt himself begin to fall. Where he was sinking to, he had no idea, but he knew that if he fell, he would never be able to return to his body, so he fought it. The thought that he would never be able to return to life had not crossed his mind. As far as he was concerned, life was still attainable. 

  
  


"Lady Hathrá." 

Hathrá turned to the priest who had just adressed her, and nodded in the affirmative. Beside her, Meleká stood, stiff with aprehension, her young face filled with worry. 

Hathrá smiled at him as graciously as she could, trying to mask her own aprehension. "Yes?" she asked, pleased at the way her voice displayed nonchalance, hiding her true emotions. 

The man bowed at her, his expression one of reverence. "It is time," he said simply. "The people await you." This said, he turned slowly, and walked out the large, ornamental doors, his ceremonial robes trailing behind him. 

"Please, do not do this, Lady," begged Meleká, her dark eyes filling with tears as she spoke. "I will tell the people you are not strong enough. They will wait." 

The old woman shook her head at the girl. She knew it was pointless to try and make her apprentice understand that she _ wanted _ to do this, but she had no choice but to try. "They will wait, Meleká, but they will not understand. Elysia will accept me, I assure you," Hathrá spoke kindly, trying to assure both the young girl and herself at the same time, and not convincing either. "This is my _ duty_, child." she said, failing this time to keep the tremor out of her voice. 

Meleká nodded, tears spilling across her cheeks. "I know. One day, I too, will be confronted with this decision. May I make it with as much grace and selflessness as you have." 

Hathrá pulled Meleká into an embrace. For a few moments they simply stood there, holding each other, each dreading the rapidly drawing time when mistress would have to leave apprentice. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, the amplified voice of the High Priest rang out through the large room they stood in. 

"Friends!" he boomed, his voice reverberating off of the wooden walls. "Today, we see the end of our suffering. We see our salvation, and today, it comes to us in the form of one of the most celebrated sorceresses in all of Fiolla! For years, we have suffered from terrible famine, drought, earthquakes, and floods. But no longer! Friends! Let us welcome our savior, the Grand Lady Hathrá!" 

The applause and cheering was deafening. "See, girl?" Hathrá said. "The people need me to help them." she paused for a moment. "They need _ us _ to help them," she whispered, her voice carrying a note of finalty. "You must be brave Meleká, whether or not I return. If I do not see you again, may you always be brave. May you be strong for your people, and may you forever remember me and the way of Light." 

Meleká nodded, not trusting her voice. Hathrá kissed her forehead and then turned to her guards. 

"Open the doors," she quietly demanded. Slowly the great wooden slabs opened to reveal a crowd of cheering men and women. Hathrá walked forward, her face wearing a gentle, soothing smile. The last glimpse Meleká got of her mistress was Hathrá bowing to the priest. She was denied further view when the doors closed. 

At last, Meleká thought she could speak. 

"I will Lady." she said softly. "I will be brave." 

  


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Well, I hope you liked that! I'm sorry it was so short! The next chapter will be longer, I promise. If you have any ideas of what should happen, any character ideas, even something small like a clothing design, write a review and tell me! I will use as many as I can! 

Luv Ya, 

_ Sarah _


	2. Strength in Weakness

Afterlife 

Well, here's chapter 2! Since the last chapter was so disapointingly short, I'm going to make this one as long as I can! Hehe! 

The usual disclaimer applies, but for those of you who were naughty and didn't read the first chapter, I don't own any LoTR stuff. But you people knew that, right? 

Anyway, read and review, and right now I need ideas for:   
I. Clothing. I know that seems simple, but I'm not too bright...   
II. Characters. Well no, I don't _ need _ ideas, but I'm sure you want to insert some. Okay here are the rules. 1. The character can't have powers, and if they do, they must be healing powers. 2. NO MARY-SUES. 3. Finally, make the character as beautiful or handsome as you want, but, please, make them original! It won't be interesting if every character has long, flowing, blonde hair and saphire eyes. I'll be accepting five, and it's not "First come first serve", so if you want to give a character idea, and there are already 12, don't let that stop you! Okay, one last thing to keep in mind, these people (though they don't have to be people) are all going to be protectors of a sorceress. I'm sorry if those rules are a little tight! 

Right, so if you have any ideas, put them in a review! Thanks!   
  


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By the time she had reached the doors of the temple, Hathrá was shaking from head to foot, and she was coated in a layer of sweat. For the first time ever, she wished she had taken her apprentice's advice and simply admitted that she was no longer strong enough to summon a deus. But she knew in her heart that the people of Fiolla were relying on her, and to betray them for her own selfish reasons would be the one thing she could never forgive herself for. Gone were the days when she was able to put herself before all others and not look back. At the very least, if she died in there, it would be for a noble cause, and her life would not have been wasted. 

However, it was the High Priest's words that worried her the most. He had promised the people that she would bring them peace and fortune, when in all truth even she had no idea what Elysia would grant her, if she bestowed upon her anything at all. And as for her being the best sorceress in Fiolla,that certainly may have been true, seeing as she was the only sorceress there. There were, however, much stronger and wiser mages in the world. She was probably weaker, magic-wise, than her own apprentice, who was quickly growing into one of the most powerful shadow-sorceresses Hathrá had seen in a long time. 

Thoughts of Meleká brought stinging tears to the wise woman's eyes. Despite what the sorceress had promised, she was not sure whether or not she would ever see the dark-haired girl again. Her largest fear was that she would fall in the chamber of Elysia, and Meleká would be left to take care of herself. She still had much to learn, and unless she had proper guidance, she could use her forces for evil. _ A girl with that much power could use her might what she likes, with virtually no fear of retribution_, thought Hathrá with an inward shudder. 

Not only that, but Meleká had not even met her deus yet. Hathrá had known shadow-mages to take more time to learn their abilities, but the girl had taken longer than most. If Hathrá was killed before she could train her apprentice in the arts of Calling, then Meleká might never learn how to beckon her god. Worse yet, if she ever _did_ manage to Call without training, then the chances were good that the deus would find an untrained sorceress displeasing. This time Hathrá fought her shudder. Elysia's tortures that she inflicted on those that were not adequate, sickened her. Being chained up, and then rolled over fire. Being placed in a barrel, jagged with broken glass and nails, and then being thrown over falls. The horrors that so many mages found themselves facing whenever they Called. 

But Elysia would be considered kind when compared with the rage of the shadow deuses. Their spirits longed to anihilate, and they gave their favors sparingly. All but the best were refused, so most who learned that their aptitude was shadow quickly relented the learnings. Hathrá did not know what horrors would await her beloved Meleká any more than Meleká herself did. But when Hathrá had asked the girl whether or not she felt she could undergo such rigorous training, she had flown into one of her fits and demanded to know why Hathrá thought her weak. One thing could be said about her apprentice: she had a good mant traits that were not so admirable, but weakness was not one of them. 

But now, Meleká was not the one who needed strength. Hathrá desired it, and yet she could find none. What she was about to do would most likely be her undoing. If she failed, what would happen to the people of Fiolla? Would they lose all hope? Or would they continue to send sorcerers until one day someone succeeded? She scanned the faces of the crowd as she and her Protectors walked towards the temple. Faces filled with such joy and hope that it made her cringe. She could not help them, she realized with a start. Elysia could not fight natural disasters. She was a light deus, but not the type they needed to save Fiolla. But now Hathrá had gotten this far, she could hardly admit her mistake. 

As they began to climb the steep stair case, the High Priest who stood before the temple doors bowed to her and her entourage. He had not noticed their mistake. In fact, the only person who had noticed was one of Hathrá's Protectors, a small, mousy-looking woman named Disellá, who was now sending several puzzled looks in Hathrá's direction. She silenced Disellá with a frown, and then turned to the High Priest, who was positively beaming at her. 

"Lady," he said, unable to mask his anticipation. Apparently very few people knew of the dangers that waited for the unwary mage, and those who did, thought Hathrá great enough to consider them trifle. 

She pasted a smile on her face and walked towards him. "Today is a fine day for your people, your honor," she said, speaking to him with equal respect. She knew it was wrong to lead him to believe that there was hope, but she had no alternative. 

He nodded. "Indeed it is. Our fate is in your hands, Hathrá. I know you will not fail us," he spoke it as a question, as though he was asking her for reassurance. Then he turned towards the guards that flanked the doorway. 

"Our time has come. Open the doors," he said to them. At the sight of the massive gates creaking open, the crowd began applauding again, louder than ever. 

Hathrá knew at this point, there was no turning back so she motioned for her Protectors to follow her. Then she swallowed her fear and stepped through the door of the temple, preparing to fight the demons that lay within. 

  
  


Boromir watched through eyes that were not his own as he ceaselessly trudged through the woods. He had no idea where he was, but he did know that he had a body again. Or rather, it _ seemed _ he had a body. He had to wonder, however, when he found himself passing blindly through a boulder that should have blocked his path. Twice Boromir tried to steady himself on a tree, and both times his entire form fell through it as though it had not been there at all. 

_Where am I? _, he wondered, after he had stumbled aimlessly around for what seemed like hours, but could have in actuality been mere minutes. The woods were nothing like he had seen in Middle Earth. The green of the trees was darker, but their leaves had a silvery quality that made them almost shine. The forest was darker here, the light was unable to penetrate the layer of trees above him, to the point where he was unsure whether it was day or night. He seemed to be alone, as he saw no signs of civilization, nor any signs of animals for that matter. 

He did not, suprisingly, feel tired, despite the long time he had been wandering. Nor was Boromir frightened, or hungry. His limbs _ did _, however, feel detached from his body, and the man was unsure whether he himself was moving them, or if they were simply walking on their own will. 

Still, he had a body, and that was what he had wished for. He was being given another chance to live. 

If he was still in Middle Earth, then he could find the ring bearer, albeit with some difficulty, and... 

_ and... _

A plan was forming in the tall man's mind, one he was so ashamed of, he could not bring himself to consider it fully. If he was in Middle Earth, as was likely, then he could find Frodo, take the ring, and bring it to his people, who would use it to defeat Sauron. Part of him was disgusted with himself and his idea, but the other, dominating part, was so drawn to the ring and it's power, that to not go was not an option for Boromir. 

Filed with renewed energy, he tore through the woods, his mind so bent on the thought of the ring that it did not matter to him that he did not know Frodo's whereabouts, let alone his own. 

  
  


The winged creature stared down at Hathrá, contempt showing in her goddess-like features. 

"Why are you here, mortal?" she demanded, her strange, silvery, pupil-less eyes never once leaving the old sorceresses face. 

"P-please Great One," stammered Hathrá. "I come on behalf of the people of Fiolla. They are suffering, dying. I beg of your boon, Lady. Grant me the powers needed to save them from destruction." Elysia made no movement to show that she understood Hathrá's great need. Perhaps this was not an invitation, but the woman took it as such. 

"I know our small mortal matters are of no concern of yours," said the sorceress, pluning recklessly onward, "but we have no other alternative!" This sounded pathetic, even to Hathrá's ears, and she knew that the deuses were not sympathetic when it came to fear and weakness. But to her eternal surprise, instead of deeming Hathrá unworthy, the deus simply sat before her, staring into her eyes. She was gazing at Hathrá, but the sorceress could feel the goddess of light looking into her soul, searching for any hint of dishonesty. Finding none, the woman-creature sighed and sat back, resting her head against one of the many statues that portrayed her form. 

"What makes you think that I can help you, mortal?" she asked finally. Her voice, while still great and echo-y, now sounded slighty more human with the note of weariness that penetrated it. For the first time in her life, Hathrá was at a loss for words. She simply stared back at the deus, whose white hair cascaded over her blue-tinted shoulders and fell to the ground. The deus sighed. "The time when the powers of light will conquer the powers of the shadow is ending." she said simply. 

Hathrá looked up at her again, not bothering to hide her shock. "Highness," she said softly, "please help us. Anything at all would be appreciated." 

"I cannot stop natural disasters, sorcerer," Elysia boomed, her contralto voice reverberating off of the stone walls of the small room. "I cannot help you!" she shouted. 

Hathrá fell to her knees. "Please, Great One. Anything. I will do anything," she pleaded. 

The deus regarded her for a minute. "Very well," she said at last, "I will help you." Hathrá started and stared. This was not what she had been expecting. Elysia paused before continuing. "However," she said, "I do not have the power you desire. So I shall give you the ability to cast this miracle. It is called 'Reawaken'." 

Hathrá glanced at the deus sideways, the hope quickly fading from her grey eyes. "What can I do with it?" she asked slowly. 

The creature spoke as though Hathrá had asked a blindly obvious question. "It is a miracle that can be used to wake the dead. But beware! When they rise they shall be in the form they took before their death." Hathrá shuddered at this. She had been planning to use the spell to awaken those that had fallen in Fiolla, but she had a feeling that no-one would be able to bear the sight of someone who had been crushed by a boulder, walking and talking like a normal person. 

"Stand still," Elysia demanded, "I am going to transmit my powers to you." The deus closed her eyes an raised her hands out in front of her. She had no wand, Hathrá noticed, nor did she utter any spells. The only change in her was the way she moved her fingers, with the same grace and deliberation a dancer has. The great eyes remained closed, but she kept her hands about a foot apart, her fingers weaving a charm. 

The old woman simply stood there, transfixed with wonder, as the creature began to glow, her hair fanning out behind her like a shroud. A strange, orb-like object appeared between her dancing fingers. Slowly the deus opened her eyes as Hathrá braced herself for what she knew was to come. Sure enough, as Elysia handed the thing to her, a searing, white-heated pain, akin to none she had ever felt before, rose up from her feet to cover her body. She would have screamed, but her body was no longer her own, and she could hear herself reciting an incantation in another language, her voice completely monotone as though she was oblivious to the pain she was in. The orb was still floating in the air above her, coming closer to her every second. She wanted to fight it, but instead, her hands raised themselves towards the mass of light. The nearer to her it got, the more unbearable her pain became, to the point where Hathrá felt herself losing consciousness. She struggled to keep herself awake, but she need not have. The spirit that was inside of her would not have let her faint had she wanted to. 

Finally, the charm reached her hands. There was a great flash of light, like lightning, only brighter, and a final whip of agony. A strange wind went through the room, blowing the old woman's long, white hair back, causing the train on her robes to whip behind her. And then she was released. She was Hathrá, the wise, old sorceress again. 

She fell to the ground, her entire being overcome with fatigue. She thought that she would never be able to rise again. The strength of the charm startled her. None of the other deuses she had called had had a Gift of that magnitude. Most of the suffering they inflicted was in the form of visions, and sometimes mild physical discomfort. The anguish of the last Giving startled her. Now however, the pain was entirely gone, save from the burning sensation in her left hand that was quickly growing in strength. When she examined it, she was surprised to see her hand closed around a white, star shaped trinket. Hathrá smiled to herself. 

"My Light Charm," she said aloud, still smiling wearily. 

The deus was still staring down at her, but now she had an expression on her face that Hathrá was unsure of how to read. Elysia seemed torn somewhere between rage and sadness, though why, the old woman did not know. 

"Go now," the goddess demanded, pointing one of her skeletal fingers towards the door that led out of the worshippping room. "Leave, and do not return. Never return," she added angrily. 

Hathrá bowed, struggling to hide her weariness. "I leave with honor," she said mechanically. With that, she bowed as low as she could, and headed towards the doors. 

  
  


Meleká watched through the window of her lodging as her mistress stepped into the sunlight of the Fiollian courtyard, her Protectors helping her walk. She was shocked to see that her mistress had gotten through safely, and even more shocked at the amount of time it had taken her. Sometimes, it took a sorcerer days, even months in some cases, to call a deus. But, no, here was Hathrá, out of the temple within an hour. It simply did not make sense to the young apprentice. 

She quickly narrowed her eyes, both trying to protect them from the glare of the mid-day sun and trying to get a better veiw of Hathrá. Her face was ashen, she noted worriedly, almost grey, and her eyes were downcast and tired. _ What happened to you, Lady? _ she wondered. It was natural for a sorcerer to be exhausted after a Call, but Hathrá seemed not only spent, but sad as well. Meleká could tell, just be looking at her, that she had not gotten what they had needed. She could read her mistress that well. 

The people were cheering as wildy as she had never seen them before. She did not envy Hathrá at all right now. She pitied her having to tell the Fiollians that she could not help them, that they would have to die. Of course, _ she_ had known that as soon as she had discovered who her mistress was Calling. But as usual, Hathrá would hear no reason. It had been like that for as long as she could remember. Hathrá made the decisions, and she, Meleká was expected to be the good, quiet little apprentice and keep her mouth shut. Even when both she and Hathrá had known she was right, Hathrá had always told her, in no uncertain terms, to shut up and behave. So now Meleká kept her thoughts to herself, even around people who looked up to her. Few took this for shyness. Most took it for arrogance. 

This probably explained her unpopularity. Or perhaps she was disliked for her temper. For as long as she could remember, her rage, sometimes pouty and petty, other times even Hathrá had to admit that it was well placed, had gotten her into trouble. Whatever the cause though, Meleká had to put up with abuse wherever she went, from being pelted with over-ripe fruit, to being physically attacked and hearing herself called a "devil-child", or "demon". 

But today, the girl wasn't worrying about the indignities she may later have to face. She was busy staring at Hathrá, who had just pushed her Protectors away, and now stood in the center of the huge courtyard, directly in the middle of a mosaic that depicted a strangely-shaped white star. Meleká took a deep breath, and began to pray for her mistress. 

  
  


Hathrá had never felt worse in her life. She was bathed in a layer of cold perspiration, but she felt odly cold. Her head pounded, and she felt dizzy and weak, as though she would collapse. But the sorceress knew what needed to be done, and she had every intention of doing it. 

It took every ounce of strength to simply speak, but speak she did. "People of Fiolla," she said in tremulous voice, while hoping in vain no-one would notice how ill she was. As soon as she spoke a wave of exhaustion passed over her. Hathrá struggled to continue. 

The sorceress took a deep breath and started again. "People of Fiolla," she said, "I have gone to Elysia, the deus, in hopes of receiving her blessing." Here, she paused, not knowing how to continue, "I was given a gift, a charm that is called 'Reawaken'." Many people looked surprised and began talking amongst themselves. The high preist raised a hand to silence them. Hathrá continued, "It is a spell that can reawaken the dead. However, the reawoken one takes the shape they took before their death. This means that if they were mangled or mutilated, that is how they shall look once reawoken," she shuddered. 

Many people in the vast crowd looked angry, some were sad, but all were disapointed. Hathrá, however, ignored them. The old sorceress simply opened her palm, which hand been clenched in a fist, and revealed a small charm, a star exactly like the one she was now standing on. It's light burned more brightly than the sun above her, drawing the attention of the people. They all fell silent. Even some of her Protectors, who had seen her with objects of this nature dozens of times, gaped at it. But Hathrá simply stood there smiling an odd, weary smile. Suddenly, she threw the charm into the air, but instead of falling down to the ground, it stayed, floating in the air, like a star. Hathrá began to move her arms about beneath it, while her eyes remained transfixed on it. 

With a flash of light, it began to spin, faster and faster, as Hathrá tossed her arms around beneath it. Without warning it gave a final, brighter than before, flash, and floated above the crowd. It suddenly seemed to explode, it's force sending people falling backwards, tripping over each other. The charm floated back down into Hathrá's hand, no longer glowing. 

All the while, Hathrá had been smiling in the same dream-like way. She stopped moving her arms and stood there motionless for a moment. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. Not even a hint of movement, except... 

Meleká was pushing through the crowd, a look of desperation on her pale face. Hathrá kept smiling, even as she felt herself losing consciousness. 

"Meleká," she whispered contentedly. Her knees gave out, for the second time that day, and she tumbled to the ground before any of her Protectors could catch her. 

The last thing Hathrá saw before she blacked out was her apprentices black-brown eyes staring at her, tears forming in their depths. 

"I told you you were too weak," she whispered. 

And then Hathrá saw and felt nothing. 

  


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Well, was that long enough for everyone? I hope so, because it took me ages to do. Like I said before, review, review, review! I THRIVE ON FEED BACK!!!! I'll be going away for the next three weeks, so ya know, there won't be many updates between now and then. Oh and finally, this won't be a Mary-Sue. Trust me. 

REVIEW!!! 

hehe. sorry. 


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